


If You're Going Through Hell

by remiparker



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: FebuWhump2021, No Plot/Plotless, Small Plots, Whump, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29143572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remiparker/pseuds/remiparker
Summary: A collection of short stories and drabbles from prompts for FebuWhump 2021.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 78





	1. Day 1: (Mind Control) Alt: Hostage Situation - Brock and Clay

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to FebuWhump 2021. I don't know how many prompts I'll actually get to, but I already know majority of them will be centered around Brock and Trent #myfavs. Hope you enjoy and stay safe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brock and Clay are put in the center of attention in ways no one likes.

"How're we lookin', Ray?" Jason asked. It took a few seconds before a voice cracked through the comms system. He steeled himself for the worse.

"I have eyes on, boss," Ray said. "It ain't good."

Bravo had been tasked with gathering intel on a small village, a mission that they could easily complete in their sleep, with their hands tied behind their backs. Alas, no one informed them about the risk of running into a local guerilla army that may or may not patrol the area. Which is how the two youngest members of the team got jumped and abducted while they searched a small hut near the back.

Jason watched the situation on the ground continue to evolve. "Status?"

From his position atop a hill, easily hidden in the thick brush, he could see his captive brothers with his NODs, but he could hardly tell what their current state of being was. He sent Ray up high to get a better read on the situation as he formulated a plan of rescue.

Jason could see Brock and Clay down in the small valley below them, bound tightly with thick ropes around their wrists which were positioned behind their backs. They were on their knees in the middle of the camp, stripped of their gear. The guerrilla army paced circles around them.

"Far as I can tell, cuts and bruises are the worst of it," replied Ray. "But I don't like the way those guys are stroking their triggers."

"Copy. Hold your position,"

Jason clocked eight gruella fighters in the middle area of the camp, plus one that was manning a large truck near the entrance. Between him and the rest of the team, they were all excellent shots, but taking the tangos down without hitting their brothers was where the real problem was. He looked at the fighters positions, watched their patterns and noted the distance Bravo had to cover. The variables were high, and the chances Brock and Clay would be hit increased the more the leader with the AK-47 placed and removed his left index finger from the trigger.

Without warning, the aforementioned leader pulled back his weapon and brought the butt of the gun down against the side of Clay's head. Brock lurched forward as much as he could, but another guard kicked him down and kicked him in his back a few times before the leader made him stop. Both men were prone on the ground as the group of tangos around them slowly grew. One drew a long hunting blade from his waistband and twisted it in his hand.

"Shit. Ray," asked Jason. "Any two for one specials?"

While Bravo One would have liked an answer right away, seeing as they were running out of time, he waited those long seconds until Ray replied.

"A-firm."

"Copy. Call your shots," said Jason. He didn't have to look at Sonny and Metal on his right or Trent on his left as the men readied their rifles. "On my mark,"

The SEALs all called the men they were aiming for and waited for Jason to give them the signal.

"Execute, execute, execute,"

Soon, the sound of suppressed shots echoed through the air. The tangos dropped before they knew what hit them and before they could react. The one closest to Brock and Clay crumbled quickly, but he did not go as easily as the others. He coughed, spit up blood on the ground in front of him, but he managed to find the strength to aim the weapon he could barely hold at the bound SEALs.

Another shot tore through his head before he could pull the trigger as Jason made sure he did not get any further than that.

"Trent, you're up," he said after the others all confirmed their own kills. Then Hayes turned toward Sonny and Metal. "Search 'em, gather phones, maps, docs, all of it. There are people who'll want to know more about this group."

"That is if we didn't get 'em all here," said Sonny as he cut his brother's binds. "Hey, Bam-Bam. Broccoli,"

Jason did not miss the glares the two injured SEALs sent Sonny's way. "How are they, Trent?"

Bravo Four replied, "Cuts and bruises, the both of them. Clay may have a mild con-"

"Emphasis on _mild_ , boss," Clay interjected with a smile.

"A mild concussion. Brock's got some nasty bruising on his back already, but I can't be sure about anything there without running more tests." finished their medic.

"They good to move?" Jason asked Trent, but he looked at Brock and Clay. Others would not likely believe that they were only held hostage for less than an hour, but that small army did not waste any time work the SEALs over once they realized they had American soldiers (Clay and Brock both bit their tongues to keep from correcting the leader that they were _sailors_ ) in their grasp.

"Carefully, but yeah. They're good to go,"

"Copy," said Jason. "Ray, meet us at exfil. HAVOC, we pass King. Jackpot, jackpot."

"Can we draw straws as to who's gonna get kidnapped next time?" Clay mumbled as he was led out of the camp and toward exfil. "Cuz… I don't wanna be it. Brock can be it,"

Brock huffed, "No."

Bravo couldn't help but share a laugh at the comments from their kids. But little did the youngest members know, the five most senior members of the team were already thinking of ways to ensure Brock and Clay did not wind up in the middle of Trouble Central again.

Or at least, lessen the chances of it happening again.


	2. "I can't take this anymore." - Full Metal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Metal takes the quick way down the side of a cliff. Trent is not happy.

"I can't take this anymore,"

Jason and Sonny shared a worried glance before turning toward Trent who was kneeling over their brother, waiting for their medic to say he required their aid.

But Trent was quiet, focused on the task at hand: saving their brother.

Bravo was in country to do recon on a suspected outpost for… something the CIA needed more information on. The buildings were based near a cliff and Bravo's best line of course to see what they needed was to go in from the bottom of said cliff.

As it would turn out, that outpost was but a home to what little wildlife lived in the area. Nothing more. To say the CIA had misinterpreted their intel would be an understatement, a discussion to be had by people who got paid to have those types of conversations. So, the team was ordered back to the C-17. Which meant they had to descend the very cliff they just ascended. Which also happened to be when Metal stepped wrong and plummeted back down to the rock covered beach.

"Trent?"

"Just a minute,"

Jason looked over to check on the rest of their team. Ray and Clay had taken up watch on the highest points they could find, while Brock watched from the ground level. Sonny and himself, however, were standing by to help Trent remove the boulder that was currently resting on top of Scott's left arm.

"I can't… do this anymore," muttered Metal, again. "Just give me the m-morphine,"

"I'm sorry, Scott, I can't. Not yet,"

Sonny and Jason shared a look upon hearing their medic call Metal by his real name and not his call sign. Add that to Metal asking for morphine? To be knocked out? This was bad. Real bad. Worse than Trent was willing to admit at the moment, but they knew him long enough and trusted his judgement fully and without question to remain silent as he worked the problem.

"Okay, get ready."

After Trent determined the extent of Metal's injured arm, a plan was formed to remove the boulder and stabilize the injury before they moved him. Because of the amount of time that had passed since he fell, crush injuries were the biggest worry Trent had to keep an eye out for as his brothers worked on raising the rock. Once he was free, they all worked together and quickly got loaded in the boat that brought them in, but not without Metal screaming bloody murder and cursing the lot of them to high heaven.

Once aboard and speeding back to their exfil point where a chopper would fly them to the C-17, Trent pulled out a dose of morphine and prepared to give it to Metal. Alpha One, laid out on the bottom of the boat as best a SEAL could with his mangled arm wrapped in gauze, glared back at his brother with unfocused eyes.

"I don't need it now," he said though pain was clearly evident on his face, even in the moonlit night.

"I know." replied Trent as he injected the medicine.

Trent knew Metal would give him a hard time about this, but as long as his brother would live and have a chance at operating again, it would be worth it.


	3. Coma - Trent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing good happens in a jungle. Trent learns this the hard way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking the time to read. Hope y'all enjoy :)

Bravo Four had been acting off ever since the ambush.

Traipsing through a thick, hot and humid, god-forsaken jungle would do that do any sane person, but adding 18 long, sleepless hours of hiking for seven SEALs was just about icing on the cake. And to top that off, their exfil was pushed back. Literally. For some reason, Blackburn didn't say, their chopper would now be four additional klicks past their intended POE. But that, it turned out, was the least of their problems.

It all started seven hours after Bravo landed on sight of their target. They were to watch a small compound in the middle of the jungle, gather intel on any and all activity and report back. The CIA was mum on what they suspected was really going on beneath the thick canopies of foliage, but it was serious enough to request - and get - a tier one SEAL Team to check it out. Sonny was sure they'd be back to hit it within a month, and if so, he'd be calling out sick.

Bravo spent two and a half days watching and logging everything they gathered. Two and a half days of sitting through the pouring rain and the thick humidity that followed with little sleep. By the time Bravo got the go ahead to pack up and leave, they were more than ready to head back to Va. Beach and put the "eagle sized mosquitoes" behind them. Sonny's words.

It was when they were around three klicks out from their new exfil point when bullets peppered the rain soaked trees. And while the foliage was not as thick as it was when they were watching the compound, it was still too thick to accurately make out where the tangos were coming from.

Bravo did as they were trained to and fought back, tracking the faint muzzle flashes and sounds that weren't from the jungle itself. Gunsmoke filled the humid air as the men worked the problem at hand.

A couple of tangos managed to get close to Trent and Metal before the men knew what happened. Scott was quick on his trigger and took out the two men who charged at him from the thick jungle, but Trent's rifle had just clicked empty when one turned his attention to the medic. Knowing it was quicker to draw his pistol than reloading, Four did just that. But he had only just pulled the weapon from his holster when the tango charged him with a primal scream and enough force to send them both to the ground, hard. It only lasted a few seconds, the tango slashing and jabbing a large blade every which way while trying to knock Trent's weapon from his grasp, before the SEAL was able to get an angle on the enemy and shoot him three times.

"Everyone good?" Jason asked once he was sure the bullets stopped flying. Echoes sounded from the other men, but Trent could only manage a small nod and a wave as he pulled himself to his feet with the aid of a damp tree.

Trent started to feel off not too long after that. As Bravo walked the final klick toward exfil, he began to lose focus. Dawn was slowly approaching, but the area around Four's vision remained dim and fuzzy. He stumbled more than once, but by now the foliage around then was significantly thinner and as he was the last man, no one questioned him about it.

As a medic, his mind began trying to figure out what was wrong as his body continued to carry him toward the chopper that was finally within view. Everything hurt, but he couldn't pinpoint it. Did he hit his head? Possibly, but he was still wearing his helmet so it was unlikely to be a concussion. Did he get shot? No, than was a feeling that was too familiar, though adrenaline could mask that pain for a while…. What else could it be?

Suddenly, they were at the chopper. If Trent were more focused, which he clearly wasn't, he'd be worried about the fact that he apparently managed to jump forward in time. Yeah, that's worrisome, but he'd worry about it later. Right now, he just had to get aboard, rest, and think through his symptoms.

Just a little bit further.

The pain was nearly invisible now, and he knew, deep down, how much of a bad sign that was. He should probably say something to Jason. He should probably say something to someone, anyone, at this point. But he couldn't find the words, and he didn't have the strength to say them even if he knew what to say.

So, Trent sat down once on board and let his head fall back as his body began to relaxed. Absentmindedly, his right arm crossed his waist. The action didn't give him pause, but the wet, sticky feeling that quickly covered his right hand did.

_Oh, crap._

His eyes were quickly slipping shut as Trent recognized his problem, but he couldn't get his body to work right anymore.

Darkness encroached around his eyesight as he thought about if he survived this, he'd never hear the end of it.

#

"I vote Romeo gets tasked with the op to take that compound out when the suits finally decide what they want to do," said Sonny as the chopper prepared to land back at their staging base. "Jungles are-"

"The worst. Yes, Sonny, we know," said Ray as he all but jumped from the chopper before it actually landed. "I'm finally starting to agree with you on that front."

"Everyone dejock and have Trent look you over for cuts and new holes," said Jason as he fell into line. "You know how quickly infections can set in after being in a place like that." he added as he narrowed his eyes at Brock.

"What? It was one time!" said the canine handler. Brock grabbed his bag and nudged his brother as he got out. "Back me up here, Tre-"

Jason did not miss the way Brock's face fell as he looked down at his uniform. Brock's right sleeve on down his vest and to his hip was stained red. Jason ran forward to steady his brother but Brock was already shaking his head as he checked himself for any wounds that would have left him covered in this much blood.

"I-it's not mine, it's not mine," he said after his search yielded no results. Brock jumped back into the chopper and cursed. "It's Trent."

#

As it would later turn out, Bravo Four had suffered a deep stab wound to his left side, just under his vest and had continued to bleed out until they were back at the base. No one noticed and therefore, everyone was beating themselves up over that fact. The image of their brother, pale and stained red as he was rushed into the base medical ward surrounded by nurses and doctors would haunt the men for some time.

An infection had also begun to set in, which was not surprising considering the jungle environment they were in. Add that to the fact that he lost a lot of blood, Trent slipped into a coma not long after surgery to repair the wound and had yet to wake up. Three days passed quickly since the team arrived back state side and there was still no change in Trent's condition.

Bravo Team took turns sitting by Trent's bedside. When their medic was first brought in, the doctors were forced to intubate him. Over the next couple of days, the tube was replaced with a mask as Trent began to breath on his own again. Now, on the evening of the sixth day, Trent rested with a nasal cannula under his nose. His color had returned and the wound to his side was healing well. However, the antibiotics were not working as well or as quickly as everyone would have liked. The doctors said Trent needed time to heal and that he would wake up when he was ready, but Bravo was getting more and more anxious the longer the days ticked by.

When he finally woke up, on the morning of day eight, he was welcomed with the sight he wished he could put off facing for another few days. Or years.

"Shit," he mumbled through a dry mouth.

"Yeah," Jason was sitting in the chair to his right with an unreadable look on his stubbled face. "Shit is right."

Trent laid there, prepared to take his reprimanding and subsequent punishment like a man. He would stand and face Jason like the Master Chief he is, but by all accounts he felt like shit and could barely keep his eyes from slipping shut again.

"What do you remember?" Jason asked.

Trent lowered his eyes. "Enough. Look Jase," he said in a whisper. He fought past the cotton in his mouth and faced his brother again. "I know I screwed up. I'm sorry,"

"I know. Which is why I'm giving you a pass, this time," Jason grabbed Trent's right hand with his own, offering his brother the comfort he needed. "We're just glad you're alive. But next time, try not to pull a move I'd expect from Brock or Clay and let us help you. Yeah?"

Trent laughed at the truth of Jason's statement and immediately regretted it as a sharp pain flared in his side. "I'll keep that in mind, brother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here I was thinking I'd get all the stories/chapters I wanted to write under 1K words. *laughs at own misleadings*


	4. Broken Bones - Clay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay is taken captive. He does not have a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We interrupt the regularly scheduled Brock and Trent whump to bring you all some Clay whump. How strange."

Clay couldn't help but scream at the top of his lungs when the leader of the group brought what appeared to be a long metal pipe down on his exposed leg, breaking the his right tibia with the sixth or seventh full body swing.

In the back of his mind, Bravo Six suspected that, had he still been fully clothed and armed, it would not have hurt this much. The pants would have shielded his eyes from the way his lower leg dipped in and shifted each time the man struck the same spot. Over and over. Hell, he probably wouldn't even feel the bones breaking had he been able to put up a proper fight against the men who managed to grab him and take him to the dank cave in their favorite desert war torn country, but alas, that was not the case.

Dressed in but his skivvies, battered, bruised, cut up and concussed, Clay was on the verge of passing out more times than not. Then the man struck him again. And again. And the darkness he longed for faded away.

It went on all night. Or at least, it felt like all night to Clay. It was likely longer, but he couldn't be sure. Each time he wanted to sink into the darkness, something else would strike his broken body. Fists or limbs and hard objects alike took turns in wearing the SEAL down and down and down on his back or chest, but his legs took the brunt of the blows and suffered the most damage. Though, that's not to say they didn't managed to break a couple of ribs or his collar bone. They asked him questions but he refused to reply. He knew what they wanted - to know who he was, who he worked for, the usual - but he held firm to the belief that his brothers would find him before it was too late.

Unfortunately, he lost track of time all together the longer they beat him and the longer he was held captive. Locked in a windowless cell, dumped onto the dusty ground that mixed too well with his open wounds, Clay was sure he wouldn't survive any longer.

Through the faint and fog filled area that was currently his brain, Clay recited the SEAL Creed. He didn't know how many times he got through it, but each time he muttered those words through a dry mouth and cracked lips, he was sure Bravo would come through his cell door any minute. He believed it. He had to.

But when they finally did, he didn't believe it.

He fought the hands that touched him and fought when they held him down. He panicked when he felt multiple pricks on his arm and screamed again when someone gripped his broken leg. Soon, Clay felt the overwhelming pull into the black so much so he couldn't fight it anymore. Finally he let go, but only after seeing Bravo standing over him, telling him that he's safe and finally going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming."


	5. Impaling - Brock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watch that last step, Brock. It's a real doozy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's got two thumbs and is snowed in? *points to self*

Trent watched in horror as his brother vanished right before his eyes.

One second, he and Brock were clearing a room on the first floor. Once that was done, they progressed down a rather narrow hall when the floor in front of him - and beneath an unsuspecting Brock - essentially turned into dust. Bravo Five fell through the hole without so much as a shout of surprise, and landed with a hard thud that would echo in Trent's memory for a long time.

"Brock?! Man down, man down!" Trent turned his light on and pointed it down in the hole. Dust still rose in the air and the sound of debris shifting carried in the space below. He could not see his brother. "Brock, talk to me. Brock?"

The last thing Trent wanted to do was leave his brother behind, but there was still one more room to clear. He could not help Brock if a tango popped out from the room ahead and filled the hole - and subsequently the SEALs - below with bullets or something worse. Moving as quick as he could, he cleared the last room, just a small washroom, and headed back to the hole in the ground.

From what Trent could tell, Brock fell down into the basement. Metal was tasked with clearing the room before and was already standing watch at the door, so Trent got on the comms and informed the team about what happened as he ran down the stairs.

By the time he arrived, the room was already filled with light from his brothers. They were standing around a pile of debris, directly under the newly formed hole in the ceiling. There were shards of splintered wood and concrete. And under all of that, Trent could barely make out a boot.

"Help me move this, carefully. Carefully, damnit!" he shouted when it appeared one of them - he didn't focus on who - lifted a section too quickly. "C'mon, c'mon,"

Bravo moved as quick and they dared to and no faster than Trent would allow them. It seemed like it took forever, and they questioned if they were actually making progress, but finally they saw their brother.

Brock was propped up on the pile of debris at an odd angle that looked painful the longer the SEALs stood around their brother. Cuts marked his face, with some bleeding freely while others were only red welts. His goggles were crooked on his face and dusted over too much to see his eyes. Dark bruises were already forming on his hands and arms seemingly before their eyes.

"I-is he…" Clay began right as Trent reached over and placed two fingers to the left side of the canine handlers neck.

Trent waited a few seconds but he did not feel the tell-tell sign he was waiting for. He pulled back, his fingers stained red, and tried again. He held his breath. "I've got a pulse, but it's real fai-," he finally said, only to be cut off when his light landed on the other side of Brock's neck. "Shit,"

More lights were pointed toward the area Trent was looked at and multiple SEALs cursed when they saw the jagged piece of wood sticking out of Brock's neck. It appeared to be part of a broken table and was around fourteen inches long. And it got worse as Trent noticed more information: 1) the piece of wood in Brock's neck was still attached to the broken table and 2) the shard was located in the worst spot possible.

"Trent?" someone asked, but the medic was focused on fully assessing his brother before he felt comfortable replying.

"Dammit there's a lot of blood… I-I think it nicked his carotid artery," Trent said as he got a closer look. He removed Brock's goggles and his helmet and cursed again when he got a clearer picture. "No no no no no,"

"So pull it out so we can get him stable and get to exfil,"

Trent didn't know who suggested that at the moment he didn't care to explain to all of them why that was the worst thing they could do for their brother. Instead he started shouting orders and things he needed from those who were not on watch duty.

Jason ordered Sonny and Metal to watch the front while he got on the radio and updated HAVOC on the turn of events. One also relayed whatever Trent told him the base doctors needed to have on hand once they arrived.

It took a lot of trial and error on Trent's part, mostly due to the fact that there was no good way to stabilize the shard of wood in Brock's neck without it moving and therefore causing more damage. They also had to worry about other injuries Five suffered before they threw together a litter.

"His breathing is getting shallow," Clay observed.

"We're running out of time." Trent said. He pulled out all of the gauze in his pack - prayed no one else would need any for the duration of this mission - and began to secure the shard. "Clay, I need you to cut the leg right here,"

Clay was already shaking his head while Trent pointed to the spot that would shorten the shard to a reasonable length. "No. No way, T. If it moves too much it could-"

"I know what _could_ happen, Clay, but we don't have a choice here. Okay?" said Trent. "Just be careful, don't worry about the wound. I've got him."

Clay took a deep breath and nodded, positioned the cutting shears on the area Trent indicated and prepared to cut the object holding their brother hostage. "Ready,"

Once Trent was ready with gauze and medical tape, Clay began to cut the shard of wood at the medic's command. Time seemed to stand still. The SEALs all held their breath up until their injured brother began to shake under Trent's hand.

Brock's eyes fluttered open and confusion marked his face before it was replaced with pain as Clay continued to cut through the wood. With weakened efforts, he tried to push Clay away before Trent was forced to hold him down. It only lasted a few seconds. A few seconds of Brock being in pain that his brother inadvertently caused, before he passed again without a word.

Clay stopped cutting, but he was only around halfway through. "Shit, Trent, did I-"

"No," Trent pressed his fingers to Brock's neck and the look on his face dropped. After a few seconds, he said, "I can't find his pulse. Keep going,"

"But-"

"Keep. Going."

By the time Clay finished cutting through the wood, he and Trent were all but covered in Brock's blood. Bravo Five was pale, even with the lights their brother's held above them. A litter was thrown together quickly and soon they were on their way to exfil.

"He's gonna be fine, Trent," Jason reassured his brother as Brock was wheeled into surgery back at the base. "You did everything you could,"

Trent couldn't help but look at the rest of Bravo who stood nearby. They watched their brother until he disappeared behind a set of doors before they all filed away to clean up and debrief. Clay was the last to hang back, the dried blood on his uniform standing out more in the early daylight than it did on the ride back to base. They were all tired and worried about their brother, but no one could match Trent's worry other than Clay.

"Yeah, well," Trent took a deep breath and followed the others. "I had help."


End file.
